


In the Dying Light

by chajatta



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Balcony Sex, Hair Pulling, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mentions of elf discrimination, Mild praise-kink, Non-Penetrative Sex, Post-Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, Rimming, Rogue Lavellan - Freeform, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 06:56:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14396694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chajatta/pseuds/chajatta
Summary: Lavellan returns to Skyhold after the Winter Palace, feeling thoroughly chewed up and spat out by the Grand Game. He'd manoeuvred his way around the sneering nobles and whispers of knife-ear as best he could, had tried to bring about a good outcome for his people. Lavellan still isn't sure whether he succeeded.Dorian, on the other hand, is much more firmly convinced.





	In the Dying Light

**Author's Note:**

> I've been toying with the idea of a very pro-Elf, proudly Dalish Inquisitor Lavellan character study, post the Emerald Graves, looking at how they would deal with the revelations the game begins to throw at you there, how they would feel seeing their rightful homeland overrun with bandits and freemen. This is not that fic. 
> 
> I also wondered whether anyone had ever written Lavellan/Dorian balcony sex before. This is more /that/ fic, but with tiny elements of the first thrown in. 
> 
> Any mistakes regarding lore are entirely my own and I humbly beg forgiveness.

The air is fresh and bracing as Adahlen steps out onto the balcony. 

It had been a long journey back from the Winter Palace and Adahlen is still weary and saddle sore, mentally and physically exhausted after everything that had transpired there. His advisors had drawn him straight into the War Room for a debrief on their return to Skyhold and Adahlen had remained cooped up in there for the best part of the day until finally, blessedly, Cullen had brought an end to things for the evening. 

Adahlen isn’t sure whether the commander had noticed the way he’d been bracing his lower half against the table in exhaustion, how he kept his hands palms down on the smooth wood to stop them shaking, or not but Adahlen had been beyond grateful for the call either way. 

The sun had only just been beginning to set, bleeding pink and orange through the huge windows of the main hall, when they got out. Too late for dinner, certainly, but not so late that the cooks wouldn’t still be in the kitchens, more than happy to fill a plate for the Inquisitor if he turned up and batted his eyelashes just right. But the long walk had been too much to face and so Adahlen had turned and headed straight up to his quarters, instead. He’d be ravenous in the morning, but waking up to an empty stomach and gnawing hunger was something so familiar to him that he’s barely troubled by the thought, no matter how readily available food was to him now. 

Adahlen can see the soldiers down below, patrolling the battlements. He watches as two pairs meet and even from here he can see how they halt and incline their heads to one another before turning and heading back the way they both came. 

He’d found it difficult, at first, adjusting to life in Skyhold. It’s stone walls and lofty towers had felt oppressive, almost claustrophobic, but now it’s a relief to be back. Everyone had anticipated how difficult things would be at the Winter Palace. Adahlen had been receiving lessons in etiquette and dance and how to play the Game for weeks beforehand, but it still feels like it hadn’t been enough to really prepare him for what would happen there. 

Adahlen sighs and lowers himself down onto his elbows on the balcony. 

May the Dread Wolf take the blasted Game and have Adahlen play no more part in it. 

It’s a fanciful thought but the curse does make him feel better. Just a little. 

The guards pass below him again and Adahlen breathes in the cold mountain air as he watches them, allows it to fill his lungs and fog before his face as he slowly exhales. The exhaustion still weighs heavily in every single bone of his body, but the longer he stands out here the more Adahlen can feel himself beginning to relax, truly relax, for the first time in weeks. Months, more like. 

The sound of boots on the stairs leading up to his quarters makes Adahlen’s ears twitch, but he doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t need to. Adahlen can tell every single one of his companions apart by the simple sound they make when they walk; the length of their strides, the manner of their gait. Still, it’s nice to know he hasn’t lost his touch when the owner of those boots, steel toe capped, light and deceptively sturdy, crosses the bedroom and pauses at the door of the balcony to speak. 

“There you are. You know I looked quite everywhere for you when I ran into Cullen earlier and he told me the war meeting had wrapped up early. I tried the stables and the herb garden and the kitchens, but nothing. I even checked up a few trees and found nothing but squirrels for my trouble.”

Adahlen laughs softly, a smile creeping up onto his face when Dorian crosses the balcony and slides his arms around his waist. The mage’s body is strong and warm behind his and Adahlen leans back into the embrace immediately, straightening his back so that his palms are flat on the top of the balcony, now, long fingers curled loosely around stone. 

“It’s a bad sign that before midnight now means early.”

Dorian’s chest vibrates against his back when he laughs. 

“Mm, quite. I should have thought to check here first, though, really,” Dorian says. Adahlen had shucked off his thin overcoat and boots as soon as he’d got back to his quarters and Dorian’s palms are warm when they slip beneath his leathers and cotton undershirt to rest on the bare skin of Adahlen’s hips. “You must be exhausted, Amatus. Have you even eaten?”

Adahlen shakes his head. 

“Josephine had some food brought into the War Room but I didn’t eat much more than a roll of bread and a bit of cheese.”

Dorian lowers his head and presses a kiss to the back of Adahlen’s exposed neck. Adahlen shudders beneath the touch. 

“Are you hungry? I could send for some food to be brought up.”

Adahlen shakes his head again. 

“I’m too tired to eat.” Adahlen feels Dorian’s lips part in protest against his neck and he smiles, cuts the argument off before it can even start. “I’ll have an extra big breakfast in the morning to make up for it, I promise.”

There’s a huff of breath and Dorian’s fingers tighten against his hip. “I’ll see to it that you do.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence, Dorian plastered to his back and Adahlen wedged snugly against the balcony. The wind whips Adahlen’s hair up and into Dorian’s face, making him scoff fondly and pull one hand out from beneath Adahlen’s shirt. He’s gentle as he begins to undo the untidy braid keeping Adahlen’s hair in place, fingers deft as he teases the plaits out until it hangs free. Dorian kisses him again, lips brushing over the top of Adahlen’s spine, and gathers his hair up, fingers combing through the tangles, before he scoops it all to one side. It spills down past Adahlen’s shoulders, glowing russet red in the dying light. Adahlen could happily close his eyes and allow Dorian to pet him like a cat until the sun disappears behind the mountains and his bare toes grow numb. 

“You were a wonder, you know,” Dorian begins. He still has his fingers in Adahlen’s hair, curled loosely at the back of his head. His thumb is brushing the back of his ear, straying dangerously close to the tip, and Adahlen has to fight to keep his concentration. “At the Winter Palace.”

That certainly gets his attention. 

“What?”

The Winter Palace had been _awful_. It was bad enough that Adahlen had been trussed up like a doll and forced to attend a ball in a palace that was built on the bones of his ancestors, land that still rightfully belonged to his people, without having to suffer the indignity of being called a rabbit, a knife-ear and an elf savage at every turn. No amount of training from his advisors could have prepared him for it. Only first hand experience of living as an elf in a world that treated your kind like less than garbage could have taught Adahlen how to keep smiling in the face of all that. 

“You heard me. The way you swept in there, in all of your Dalish glory, unapologetic and uncowed and so _proud_ , when every single person at that ball was looking down their long Orlesian noses at you.” Dorian’s voice is low and sweet by his ear and it makes Adahlen shiver. “Those nobles wanted you to fail, Amatus, they wanted you brought low. But you are so much more than any of those jumped up Dukes and Duchesses could ever aspire to be.”

Adahlen lowers his head, just enough that some of his hair falls across his face. Dorian immediately moves to stroke it away, tuck it carefully behind Adahlen’s ear. 

“I didn’t feel like a wonder. I felt-“ Adahlen’s grip around the balcony railing tightens. It’s starting to get dark, now, and the wind that whips over the mountains feels sharper now, brisker. It turns his knuckles white, the freckles on the back of his hands standing out starkly, like footsteps in the snow. “I was so _angry_ , Dorian. It’s one thing to know that most of Thedas sees us fit for nothing but servitude, but to be the Inquisitor and for them to still call me a savage right to my face, like I’m worth so little- like my people are worth so little that it doesn’t even matter whether we hear it or not.” Adahlen can hear his voice shaking but he ploughs on, stubborn. “And what could I do? Complain? Try and convince them that they’re wrong, that Elves are worth something if you can just look past the ears and give us a chance? Put an arrow through the lot of them and prove them right? There was nothing I could do but smile and take it.”

“But don’t you see, Adahlen?” Dorian says. He uses his free hand to turn Adahlen around, so that they’re facing each other for the first time since Dorian came up here to join him. Dorian is lit from behind by the candle light spilling out from Adahlen’s quarters, his whole frame glowing, and he’s smiling fondly down at Adahlen. The hand that was in his hair is cradling his face now, cupping his cheek, his thumb pressed lightly on the bow of Adahlen’s lips, the dark line of his Vallaslin. “There was something you could do and you did it. Setting up Briala as the shadow behind the throne? Placing power in the hands of the one person who might be able to enact real change for the Elves of Orlais?” Dorian presses his thumb down and Adahlen parts his lips. “Sweetheart you didn’t just play the Game. You played the Game and you _won_.”

“I let Florianne murder Celene.” Adahlen says. He is no stranger to death but Celene’s still lingers. He had replayed it in his head, over and over, as he lay beside Dorian in their bedroll on the long journey back to Skyhold. 

“Celene’s death was an unfortunate side-effect of Orlesian politics,” Dorian reassures, far too casually. “If we’d been in Tevinter, peace talks wouldn’t even be considered worth hosting if there weren’t at least three assassinations before the dancing started.” 

“Alright, then what about Gaspard? I put him on the throne knowing about all of those deaths during the Civil War. Those people had nothing to do with politics.” Adahlen pauses for a breath, Dorian’s palm still warm on his cheek. “I had no idea what I was doing, Dorian. I was lost and out of my depth, just like I have been ever since I got the Anchor, and giving power to Briala was selfish.”

Dorian, damn him, laughs. 

“Amatus, you’ve not a selfish bone in that entire body of yours. In fact, everything you’ve done since I met you has been so entirely selfless that if I weren’t so desperately smitten with you it would be quite sickening.” Adahlen makes to interrupt but Dorian is the one that stops him, this time, his hand returning to Adahlen’s mouth. “If the only selfish thing you do as Inquisitor is manoeuvre an outside choice into power in an attempt to stop the complete subjugation of your own people then I think we can all count ourselves very lucky indeed that you are the one who stepped out of the Fade.”

Adahlen’s ruddy cheeks flush with colour at the praise. He and Dorian had clashed, just a little, when they first met, over the plight of Elves in Thedas, but over the long months that they have known and grown to love each other, they have both changed from the men they once were. Adahlen can see his lover trying, every day, to be better, to _do_ better and his support, in this and in all things, means more to Adahlen than almost anything. 

“I just wish that things could be different,” Adahlen says, his voice pitched low enough that it’s almost a whisper. “I wish I could have done more.”

“I know you do, love, I know,” Dorian soothes. He strokes his hand down Adahlen’s cheek, his neck, before finally settling on his shoulder. “But you do more than enough. You do too much, frankly, but it’s what makes you such a bloody wonderful leader and it’s the reason everyone loves you so much.”

Adahlen offers Dorian a crooked little smile and lifts his own hands, placing them on Dorian’s chest. He toys with the buckles running across Dorian’s shirt, clever fingers flicking one of them open and closed. Neither of them speaks for a while, but the silence between them is comfortable, filled with the soft clicking of metal. Dorian slides his hands back underneath Adahlen’s shirt, ghosting over his hips and his flat tummy, making goosebumps spring up all over Adahlen’s skin. 

“Why don’t we go to bed?” Dorian suggests. Adahlen lifts his gaze, brown eyes glimmering in the near darkness. “I know you said you were too tired to eat but I still don’t think you’re completely convinced of just how exquisite I find you. I’d be amenable to showing you, if you’ve the energy for it.”

Dorian’s hands are still shifting beneath his shirt, stroking his stomach, but Adahlen knows, with certainty, that if he says he’s too tired then Dorian will take him to bed and just hold him close, instead. That Dorian will wrap his arms around him and hold him against his chest until Adahlen falls asleep. 

Except Adahlen isn’t too tired. 

“I’ve the energy for it,” Adahlen says. His hands are still on Dorian’s buckle and this time when he flicks it open he leaves it that way. 

Dorian’s smile turns sly and pleased. He moves his hands down to Adahlen’s hips, makes to take hold of him and guide him back into his quarters, but Adahlen stops him. 

“Wait,” he says. Dorian immediately pauses. “You could start by showing me right here.”

Dorian raises one eyebrow. “Right here on the balcony? In the cold?” He teases his fingers under the waist of Adahlen’s leathers and tugs him closer. 

“Mmhm. You’ll have to do something to warm us up, won’t you?”

Dorian’s lips are close enough to taste. Adahlen goes up onto his tip toes, leans in so that Dorian’s mouth brushes against his as he speaks. 

“My, my, Inquisitor. Someone’s feeling daring.”

Dorian’s fingers are pulling at the tie of his leathers, fumbling as he attempts to unfasten the knot one handed. Adahlen doesn’t make it easier for him, pressing the length of his body right up against Dorian’s. 

“Daring,” Adahlen agrees, pressing a short, sharp kiss to Dorian’s mouth. “Or maybe a little savage? It’s such a fine line, it’s hard for me to tell.”

Dorian’s laugh is loud and delighted. “Oh you are just _marvellous_ , Amatus.”

Adahlen’s smile is wicked and he surges up to kiss Dorian again, properly this time. Dorian’s mouth is searing hot against his, his moustache tickling the space beneath Adahlen’s nose. Dorian manages to undo the ties and he pulls them open roughly, until Adahlen’s leathers are gaping. 

Adahlen slips his tongue into Dorian’s mouth as Dorian’s hand goes beneath his breaches, and he sighs into the kiss as Dorian gets a hand around him. He’s barely even half hard yet. Talk of the Winter Palace isn’t really the type of foreplay that gets him going, but Adahlen wants this, more than he’d realised. Dorian, warm and strong against him, his thumb rubbing under the sensitive head of Adahlen’s cock as he works him to full hardness, all of it helping to clear his mind of anything and everything but his lover pressed against him, just for tonight. He would deal with the rest of the fall out of his decisions in the morning, but for now, for a few hours, at least, Adahlen wants to forget that the fate of all of Thedas lies squarely on his shoulders. 

Adahlen is panting for breath by the time he pulls back, his mouth wet and swollen. He’s hard in Dorian’s hand, now, and Adahlen rocks up into every touch as Dorian continues to work him. 

“If you could only see yourself now,” Dorian says. His eyes are dark and blown as he gazes down at Adahlen, perfect pink tongue darting out to lick his lips. Adahlen goes after it, pressing his open mouth against Dorian’s, hard enough to kiss him breathless. “Glorious,” Dorian sighs against his mouth. “Utterly glorious.”

Adahlen’s blood runs hot beneath his skin and he can feel his body winding tight like a bowstring. He reaches a hand between them to try and unfasten Dorian’s pants, but he gets pushed away. Adahlen raises his gaze, questioning, but Dorian just shakes his head. 

“Later,” he says. Dorian rubs his thumb over the slit of Adahlen’s cock, smearing the precome that’s beading there, and then pulls his own hand away, too. “Turn around and bend over the balcony for me.”

Dorian’s voice sounds rough, gruff almost, and Adahlen takes one last, lingering look before obeying. He rests his forearms against the the stone and peers over the edge into the dark. There are braziers dotted along the ramparts and Adahlen can see the guards every time they pass beneath a flame. His balcony is too high up for the guards to see the two of them, but it’s still something of a thrill, knowing that they’re just barely out of sight. 

The wind is cold enough against his exposed skin when Dorian tugs his leathers down over his ass that Adahlen can’t help the shiver that races up his spine. 

“Okay?” Dorian asks from behind him. 

“Yes, fine,” Adahlen breathes. Dorian shifts behind him, leaning over his body and sweeping his hair aside to press another kiss to the back of his neck. “Dorian.”

“I do love it when you breathe out my name like that,” Dorian mumbles, kissing his neck again, and again, slowly working his way up until his nose is buried in Adahlen’s hair. He nuzzles against it, breathing in deeply, and then moves on to an ear. 

“ _Oh_ , Dorian,” Adahlen moans, his voice ringing and impossibly loud when Dorian grazes his teeth over the tip. Dorian muffles a laugh and does it again. Adahlen’s hips twitch forward of their own accord and he has to grit his teeth. The guards might not be able to see them but any sound they make will travel down to them on the wind. 

Dorian lavishes his ear with attention for a minute longer before finally pulling away. Adahlen feels the cold through his undershirt now that Dorian isn’t pressed against his back, but he’s soon distracted by the touch of hands on his bare hips. 

“You are the singularly most beautiful man I have ever seen,” Dorian breathes out, quiet and worshipful. Heat flushes along his neck and down his chest and Adahlen sucks his bottom lip into his mouth when Dorian’s hands travel down to his ass, thumbs massaging his cheeks. Dorian takes his time, whispering praises as he lavishes Adahlen’s pert backside with attention, squeezing and caressing and kissing until Adahlen is trembling from more than the low temperature. He knows what’s coming, it’s obvious, but Adahlen still lets out a long, low groan when Dorian finally parts his cheeks and nudges his nose between them, licking a warm, wet stripe over Adahlen’s entrance. 

“Shh, Amatus. The guards,” Dorian reminds him, but he doesn’t stop. 

“I know, I know, I just-“ Adahlen gasps, again, but it’s quieter this time, muffled into his bicep. 

Dorian’s mouth is scorching, his tongue teasing over Adahlen’s entrance relentlessly. They haven’t done this too many times, but each time they have Adahlen has been reduced to a shivering, shuddering, wreck and he can feel himself roaring towards that already. Dorian’s tongue pushes inside him and Adahlen has to dip his head down to bury his face in his arms. The movement pushes his ass up more and he feels Dorian moan against him, the vibration making his cock twitch against his stomach. 

“Dorian, oh- oh vhenan, please,” Adahlen moans, low and quiet. His eyes flutter just as the guards pass beneath them again and Adahlen’s entire body is thrumming, hips shifting of their own accord as he rocks back onto Dorian’s face. “Touch me. _Please_.”

Dorian squeezes one of his cheeks, nails digging into his soft flesh, before he pulls back. Adahlen can hear his ragged breathing and then there’s the sound of his boots on stone again as he gets to his feet. Adahlen listens, shoulders heaving, as Dorian unfastens his own pants and shoves them down, and then he’s pressed against Adahlen’s back again, his heavier body pressing him forward against the balcony. 

“You brilliant man,” Dorian breathes into his hair as he reaches around their bodies and takes Adahlen in hand. “You kind, intelligent, gorgeous man.” 

If Adahlen didn’t know better he’d think that was lightning, electricity crackling at Dorian’s fingertips as he works Adahlen’s cock. His own length is pressing, hard and hot, against the small of Adahlen’s back, and Adahlen sighs softly, rocking back against it. 

“Not so bad yourself,” Adahlen gasps. The motion of his hips is beginning to grow a little erratic and Adahlen is torn between pushing forward into Dorian’s hand or back into the warmth of his body behind him. 

Dorian laughs, ragged and pleasured. “Oh, I know, Adahlen, I am marvellous. What’s that saying, it takes one to know one?”

Adahlen snorts, his breath rushing out of his nose when Dorian shifts his hips. His cock slides over Adahlen’s ass and then between his legs, rubbing over the soft, sensitive skin of his balls. Dorian is leaking just enough precome that the slide is slick and smooth and Adahlen can hardly stand it, he’s so turned on. There’s a sharp intake of breath behind him when Adahlen presses his thighs together. 

“Yeah?”

“ _Yes_ , Amatus.” Dorian sounds much less composed, now, and Adahlen does it again, clamping tight around Dorian’s length. “You needn’t carry that bow of yours around when you have thighs as strong as this,” Dorian groans. “You could just kill by suffocation.”

The sharp bark of Adahlen’s laughter echoes off the walls and they both freeze, Adahlen’s shoulders shaking as he tries to control himself. But there’s no sound from the guards below and Dorian lets out a sigh of relief. 

“That’s some sight I’d make, squeezing a rage demon to death between my legs.”

“An honourable way to go.”

Adahlen’s breath is still ragged with laughter when Dorian removes his free hand from his hips and snakes it up his back. He shivers as Dorian dances his fingers over the notches of his spine through his undershirt, but his entire body seizes up when Dorian reaches his neck and then curls his fingers loosely into his hair. 

“Are you close?” Dorian asks, his lips tickling the shell of his ear. 

Adahlen hums an affirmative, his body held taut and tense as Dorian strokes his fingers through the silky mass of it. He teases out more tangles and scratches his nails against Adahlen’s scalp before taking a careful fistful. 

“Do you think you can come without making too much noise if I do this?”

Adahlen almost says no, he doesn’t think he can, it’s too much. But he can feel Dorian’s cock twitching between his legs, Dorian’s heart hammering against his back, and before he knows it he’s nodding. 

“Can you?”

“Let’s find out, shall we?” Dorian says. Then he pulls. 

Adahlen’s breath whooshes out of him and immediately he drops his head again, trying to cover his mouth. But Dorian pulls again, a fistful of Adahlen’s hair coiled around his fingers, and Adahlen keens, the sound catching in his throat. 

“Mythal have mercy,” he hears himself whisper, voice ragged. It isn’t what he really wants to say, but the things Adahlen really wants to say were like to get him some kind of dishonourable discharge from the Inquisition. Never mind that the Inquisition wasn’t the army and they needed him. They’d probably just take his hand along to seal rifts, the rest of him sent packing back to the Free Marches if anyone heard the slew of filth that was resting on the tip of his tongue. 

“Dorian. _Vhenan_.” 

“I know,” Dorian groans. He tugs again and Adahlen’s entire body arches, back bowing, as he follows the pull. 

“So close, Dorian. I’m so close, please,” Adahlen whispers, wrecked and desperate. He can feel it lurking in the pit of his stomach, aching, his cock leaking all over Dorian’s other hand. Dorian’s hips are slamming against his ass now, hard enough that the motion pulls him free of Adahlen’s thighs. He presses against Adahlen’s ass instead, cock slipping between his cheeks, and Adahlen pushes himself up onto his tiptoes. 

If Adahlen clutches the balcony any harder the stone is going to crumble beneath his hands. He’s muttering endlessly beneath his breath, now, unable to keep silent but somehow able to stay quiet. Dorian leans in closer, kissing the back of his neck, teeth grazing his skin, and with one last, sharp pull to his hair, hard enough that Adahlen’s head jerks back, he’s coming. 

Adahlen shakes his way through his release, teeth digging so hard into his bottom lip that he draws blood. Mythal must be watching over him, though, because somehow he doesn’t shout, or scream, or otherwise call out and alert the guards to what’s going on above them. 

Dorian releases his cock as he starts to soften and instead takes himself in hand. Adahlen listens to the slick sound of his hand moving over the rushing of his own blood in his ears and it isn’t long before he feels Dorian’s release hit the small of his back. 

They stay pressed together, both of them trying to catch their breath. Dorian’s hand is still in his hair, but he’s loosened his fist now and he’s stroking it instead, soothing. Adahlen has to force himself to keep his eyes open. 

They stay like that until the sweat starts to cool on their bodies, leaving them at the mercy of the cold. 

“Now are you quite convinced?”

“Mm?” Adahlen lifts his head and twists to look over his shoulder. Dorian looks adorably dishevelled, his moustache in disarray and sweat shining in the dip of his throat. “I’m not sure. I’ll sleep on it but you might need to convince me again in the morning. More loudly and with less clothes.”

“You truly are an insatiable man, aren’t you?” Dorian shakes his head and smooths Adahlen’s hair out before offering his clean hand to help him up. “I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm to allow for another attempt, though.” 

Adahlen’s legs are shaking as he leans up to nuzzle their noses together and then press a quick kiss to Dorian’s cheek. 

“In all seriousness, I don’t think I realised how much I needed that. Thank you, ma vhenan.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to thank me,” Dorian says. He’s smiling but his eyes are soft. “You know I’d do anything for you. Especially when it involves getting to see you like that.”

“I know you would, and I you. All the same, though.”

Adahlen pulls his pants back up but leaves them unfastened. There was no point in wasting time with the ties when he’d be naked soon enough anyway. Adahlen watches as Dorian does the same.

“Now why don’t we go to bed for real? You must be frozen.”

“Just a little mild frostbite, nothing major. You know, I think I’m adapting to the South after all.”

Adahlen scoffs but reaches for Dorian’s hands all the same. “Come, let’s clean up and then sleep. I’ll even let you stick your cold feet on me.”

“When you make an offer like that, is there a man in Skyhold that could refuse you?” 

Adahlen laughs, soft and fond, and pulls Dorian back into the warmth of his quarters. He doesn’t forget to close the doors to the balcony behind him. He planned to be excessively loud and complimentary for Dorian’s second attempt at convincing Adahlen of his own brilliance, and there was no point in taking unnecessary risks, after all.


End file.
